Dear Ava

The door here is made from heavy, beveled glass, the kind you see in old houses. Freshman year, I thought it was beautiful with the red dragon carefully etched into the upper section, but now—ha. Dread, thick and ugly, sucks at me, sliding over me like mud even though I gave myself a hundred pep talks on the twenty-minute drive in from the Sisters of Charity in downtown Nashville

Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can crawl back up.”

Dear Ava,

Your eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea.

Shit. That’s stupid.

What I really mean is…you look at me and I feel something REAL. And that never happens.

It’s been ten months since you were here, but I can’t forget you.

I’ve missed seeing you walk down the hall.

I’ve missed you cheering at my football games.

I’ve missed the smell of your hair.

And then everything fell apart that night.

If you need anything, I want to be there for you. Text me. Please. 105-555-9201

P.S. I’m a Shark, but I’d never hurt you.

P.P.S. I’ve tried to fight it with everything I have, but I want you. Still.